


It Could Have Been Worse

by Endriya



Category: Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-19 04:55:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19968379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endriya/pseuds/Endriya
Summary: In which yes, Monarchia is destroyed, but at least the Emperor and Lorgar have a nice, pleasant conversation about it, without the XIII Legion looking on.





	It Could Have Been Worse

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was mostly written for my own amusement and characters may be OOC, but I hope that anyone reading this enjoys it. It's basically just an alternative version of what happened at Monarchia which turns out much better for all involved.   
> Feel free to let me know what you think (nicely).

**_He will not listen, my lord. Not to me._**  
Horror overtook Lorgar as he watched the robed figure staring, eyes closed, at the sky, calm demeanour in contrast with bloody countenance. A part of him still hoped that the old man was bluffing - perhaps in some cruel-spirited revenge for his newly broken bones - but the rest of him knew it was the truth. The devastation around him, this destruction of his perfect city, was all at the behest of his Father, his Emperor, his God.   
Then, there was light, bright and blinding, and when Lorgar fixed his gaze on its source, he saw before him the Emperor.   
"Lorgar."   
"Father." The Emperor studied him, gentle caring and disappointment entwining in his eyes. For a moment, those eyes darted across to Guilliman and the Ultramarines, then an arm extended to him an invitation.   
"Come, my son. Let us talk in private." When Lorgar considered that he had shortly before smashed his Father's closest friend's skeleton to pieces, he did not like the sound of a private conversation with the Emperor of Mankind. He was left with little choice, however, by the firm and steady gaze that fixed him. Lorgar drew the deepest possible breath, and stepped forward. 

He was surprised when they didn't immediately teleport out to orbit but his Father instead took his arm, still holding that disappointed stare, and after a pause, Lorgar, looking around, realised that the Sigillite was making his way toward their party, leaning heavily on his staff. If Lorgar listened closely, he could just about hear the _crunch_ of bone with each and every step Malcador took, and felt sure that his Father could too. He noticed that the Emperor was also watching the approaching human, expression inscrutable. It didn't matter; Lorgar didn't need to be able to read his Father's thoughts to know that there were a variety of ways to express how much trouble he was in, most vulgar. His eyes swept briefly once more over his ruined city, and a surge of anger ran through him again. Clenching his fists to stop them from shaking, Lorgar vowed that, no matter what his Emperor wished to discuss at this private meeting, he would have his answers; and that no matter the retribution his anger had earned, for his city, it was worth it.   
As Malcador came close to the group, the nearest Custodian lent him aid in making the last few steps and then, in a ripple of energy, the ruins of Monarchia were no more. 

The very instant that they re-materialised on the deck of the ship, the Emperor was moving, commanding that he be followed. Lorgar did as bidden, trailing his Father's footsteps until they came to a small living room, where the Emperor turned to stare him down once again. It was then that Lorgar realised that they were alone - no one else had followed them.   
"Sit, Lorgar." Vows still fresh in his mind, Lorgar wasn't in the mood for sitting.   
"Why did you destroy my city?" he demanded.   
"Lorgar-"   
"It was perfect and yet you had it razed to the ground. Why?" A pause. "Why!" His Father sank into a three-cushioned couch, seeming weary, and patted the space beside him.   
"Sit, Lorgar, and we will talk." He glared. "You will have your answers, I promise. But first, you must do as I say. Sit." It seemed that Lorgar wasn't going to get anywhere any other way, so he sat slowly, and faced his Father.   
"Why?" The Emperor breathed.   
"Lorgar, I am disappointed in you. Of all my sons, you are loyal in your intentions. Of that I have no doubt. It has always been my vision for mankind that we live in an enlightened way, free from the shackles of religion and superstition, which have for so long bound us to ignorance, and locked us in wars to the edge of our existence. To this end, I have sought to share the Imperial Truth through you, my sons. In this, you have undermined me." It was then that he realised what was going on. "Your intentions may be true to me, but your actions are not." If not for the calamitous consequences of this small misunderstanding, Lorgar would have laughed.   
"But you _are_ a god." he told him plainly. "There is nothing in this world more evident. Your might is undeniable; your power insurmountable; your will indomitable. How can you deny it?" The Emperor looked at him gravely.   
"I am no god, my son. Only a human, by blood and birth. Once the course of human evolution has run its path, all will be more like me. Will they all then be gods?"   
"But that is in the future, Father. You are now."   
"A god is eternal. If in the future I do not fit the standards for a god, how can I be called one now?" Lorgar opened his mouth, then shut it again, trying desperately to think of a further reason for his belief. "Indeed, if I were a god, why is it that you argue with me? Should a god's word not be final?" Try as he might, Lorgar could think of no answer to that paradox either.   
"So why the city?" he asked in defeat. "Why my perfect city?" His Father placed a kind hand on his pauldron, gentle, yet firm enough that Lorgar could feel its weight through his armour.   
"It was not compliant." came the simple answer. "It stood as a symbol of all that you had misunderstood about me, and all of the misunderstanding that you had inadvertently spread." A further pause. "When weeding out undesirable plants, one cannot simply remove its leaves at the surface, as the roots will grow new ones. Similarly, it is not impossible that, should you remove the roots but leave the rest whole, it will grow new roots, and spread once more. Your misconceptions and blind faith were the roots, which I hope to have helped you deal with now. Monarchia, and all you have built like it, were the leaves, and Monarchia the most virulent of all of them. I trust that you can deal with the rest yourself." Lorgar nodded. "Another way of putting it would be that by ripping out the page you are on in a book, you have no choice but to turn over a new one. This is what I hope for you, my son, and I have faith in you and that you can do it." Lorgar bowed his head. He felt defeated, but not entirely in a bad way. Yes, all his life's work had just been struck out as null, but it was replaced with a new purpose, a new perspective; that, and it was hard to feel unhappy with his Father's tender eyes staring down at him, bathing him in cherishment. Spontaneously, Lorgar felt the need to give the Emperor a hug and was accepted unhesitantly into an embrace that lasted several minutes. Eventually, he felt a soft kiss pressed to his forehead, his Father asked lowly, "Do you understand, now, my son?"   
"Yes, Father." he answered, and meant it. The Emperor pulled back, smiling.   
"Well, then, all that's left for you to do before returning is apologise to your uncle." Lorgar froze. He had forgotten about that. After a few more moments, when no further reprimand seemed forthcoming, he asked,   
"Are you not angry?"   
"Of course I am. But I understand that sometimes, when we're angry and confused, we make bad decisions. Just as Malcador did when he chose to take the blow and let your release your anger, rather than blocking it, or retaliating." Lorgar frowned inwardly. What did his Father mean by suggesting that the frail mortal could have done anything against him? "Besides, I think you've been punished quite enough for today. If you act that way again, though," the Emperor continued more severely, "we will not be so tolerant."   
"Yes, Father." The Emperor's face softened again.   
"Well," He murmured, "off you go, then." 

It took Lorgar about a length of a corridor to realise that he should have asked his Father where he would find the Imperial Regent but fortunately, it wasn't too hard. He found the slight man being attended to a few rooms down the next hallway, with two of the Custodians from Monarchia still watching over him.   
"Uncle!" he called out as he approached and, when the Sigillite turned his head, was pleased to see that - even if it was swollen and no longer its usual sickly pale for the large, dark bruise - his face was at least no longer bloodied.   
"Primarch Lorgar." Lorgar knelt by the side of the First Lord of Terra and bowed his head in guilt. A brief wave of a bony hand was all it took for the attendants to leave. "I have come to apologise," he murmured, "for my earlier loss of temper. I hope that I can make it up to you and that you recover quickly." Malcador smiled slightly and nodded his head in acknowledgement.   
"It is much appreciated." he said, and when he breathed in again, it seemed to be with some pain. Lorgar bowed his head further, not that it made much difference; he was still looking down at the man. "Although, if I may ask - did you come, or did your Father send you?" Lorgar smiled too.   
"A little of both." he confessed. "I-I wish things hadn't turned out this way."   
"No," Malcador acknowledged, "but we can be grateful that they didn't turn out so much worse." Lorgar looked into the Lord Regent's dark, upturned eyes and decided that he didn't want to know. 


End file.
